An Unholy Alliance
by Fiaba
Summary: A wounded Morgana arrives in the dead of night at the citadel, and what she has to say puts Arthur in the most difficult of positions. What he decides could change everything for them, but only if they let it. Arthur/Morgana.
1. Chapter 1 - The Bell Tolls

**Hello, fellow Merlin-lubbers, and welcome to what will (I hope) be my first multi-chapter story type… thing. Well. There's a plot, of sorts, so it probably counts. I don't think there's much that could spoil specific episodes, though general character patterns and fates maybe. A few things you ought to know about the premise of this story: **

_Arthur has reigned for two years. Uther died in an accident without Morgana's involvement. Arthur is unmarried, and Merlin is his closest confidante à la S5. _

_Morgana has been gone from Camelot for four years, fighting sporadically with Arthur. She has not taken the throne at any point and was imprisoned briefly in exile by another king. She is not as deranged as the show would have us believe, but she is anti-Pendragon. She is not Arthur's sister; her parentage is that of pre-S3. _

_Gwen is still a servant, and closer to Merlin than Arthur. _

_Lancelot is alive. The core circle of knights is made up of him, Gwaine, Percival, Leon and Elyan._

* * *

PART I

"Hello Merlin."

Arthur, leaning against the wall beside the door, greeted Merlin ominously as soon as the erstwhile manservant bundled through the door. Merlin winced.

"Er, hello sire," he replied cautiously, smiling placatingly as he turned to face Arthur, his hands fidgeting behind his back.

"And where have we been tonight?"

"That... depends on where Gaius told you I was."

"Three guesses."

"The tavern," Merlin sighed. "Again." he added under his breath.

"Yes. Becoming something of a habit for you, isn't it, Merlin?" said Arthur, leaning back with his arms folded, light voice laced with mockery. "Well no matter. How about you wash those socks tomorrow to make up for the work you missed, hm?"

"The socks? What socks?" asked Merlin blankly.

"_All _the socks," replied Arthur with a gleeful pointed stare. "And when you're done with that my armour is in a bit of a state, so you can do that too-" just as Merlin was about to sigh heavily, and Arthur list another five chores, they were interrupted by the sound of the alarm bell tolling. They looked sharply at one another at once. Arthur dropped all light heartedness at once, his expression turning to one of alertness and seriousness the instant the first clang cut the night air. It was late, about the time the castle would be turning quietly to slumber, but now the corridors were suddenly awakened, filled with the sound of pounding feet as guards rushed to answer the alarm call. Arthur too seized his sword and leapt to the door, Merlin following after.

In the courtyard, Arthur and Merlin ran into the knights. Leon, Elyan and Percival uttered a hasty "milord" at the sight of Arthur, who immediately asked about the alarm call.

"We don't know exactly, Sire, only that an intruder has entered Camelot," answered Sir Leon.

"How did they get past the walls?"

"I'm told that sorcery may have been involved, my lord," replied Leon heavily. "We have all guards on alert, but there's been no sign since so far,"

"We keep looking," ordered Arthur. "They must not escape."

A loud yell cut the air. Arthur immediately gestured for the others to follow him and they rushed through the courtyard and under a narrow arch to the west gate. A knight in his scarlet cape was sprawled on the stone paving, his sword a few inches from his gloved hand. Leon quickly hurried to the man and put his fingers to his throat.

"Sir Cadog," said Leon in a relieved tone. "Alive."

"Who did this?" asked Elyan, looking around nervously. Arthur swept his gaze around the deserted passage, the high walls of the citadel eerily dark in the shadow of the night. The moon, which ought to be full, was hidden behind a thick swarm of cloud so all that was visible was just a faint, blurry white glow. But there were no signs of the intruder.

"Well, whoever it was isn't here now..." Arthur said slowly. "But don't lower your guard. We'll go to-"

"My lord!" Came the familiar voice of Sir Lancelot. Footsteps pounded on the stone. Arthur looked up, startled, and a heavily breathing Lancelot arrived, leaning on the wall. "In the front courtyard. Sire, you must come quickly!"

With a swift glance at Merlin, Arthur raced after Lancelot. All five of them charged through to the biggest courtyard without hesitation, and drew to a halt when they saw a circle of scarlet-cloaked knights stood with swords raised, pointing inwardly to whatever lay within the enclosure. They jostled, nervously, warily, as if afraid of it, despite the strength in their numbers. Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances. Something there was dangerous.

Arthur marched to the knights unwaveringly. They parted to allow him through the human circle, Merlin and the others close behind.

"What is it, have you foun-" Arthur pulled up short so Merlin nearly collided with him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, but Arthur had utterly frozen. Merlin craned to see past his shoulder, and his eyes fell on a dark shape. Arthur felt his veins turn to ice.

"Morgana."

PART II

She turned her face towards Arthur, slowly, her alabaster skin tinged with grey but her sea green eyes as piercing as ever. Her hair was in wild disarray and her black gown was visibly torn. She cradled her left wrist awkwardly, and was making no attempt to regain her feet.

"Hello, Arthur," she said in her low voice, her eyes not leaving the King. A muscle was jumping in Arthur's jaw, like he was grinding his teeth at the very sound of her voice. He held her gaze but seemed reluctant to do so, holding it only because he was unable to look away.

"Seize her," he said hoarsely, and Morgana flung up her right hand. All the knights immediately recoiled a step and raised their swords defensively, while a whispered spell was dancing on Merlin's tongue, sure that Morgana was about to strike. But the expected onslaught did not come, and Morgana merely gazed intensely at Arthur, her hand still raised.

"I am not here for trouble," she grated out, her expression hard. "Do you think I would come here like this if I were?" she said bitterly. "I come with a warning, Arthur Pendragon, and you would do well not to ignore it,"

It was enough to make Arthur lower his sword a fraction, but he shook his head. "I do not heed a word you say any more, Morgana," he replied gravely. Morgana simply looked at him and spoke again.

"You have unwelcome visitors in your territory, Arthur. I have met them. We did not get along," she said voice dripping with irony, gesturing at the rips in her clothing and the awkward movement of her left arm. Arthur noticed a long cut on the other, and felt his resolution against her waver, against his will. He swallowed.

"A group of sorcerers. They call themselves the Wiersa. They are powerful users of magic, and they are hungry for power. Above all they loathe your reign and all you stand for." Arthur fancied he saw a glitter of darkness register in Morgana's eyes for a second. Presumably, or so he assumed, she shared that sentiment. The thought steeled him against his troubled sympathies and his expression hardened.

"I would've thought you'd be on excellent terms with them, then." He said bluntly. Morgana laughed without much real humour.

"Not an unreasonable assumption, I grant you," she said, looking almost amused for an instant before her expression grew dark. "But I like them even less than they like you, and they would not hesitate to destroy me," she replied flatly. "Thus I come here offering..." she paused, searching for an adequate word. "My services, in exchange for the protection of the citadel. And I assure you, Arthur, you will need help in due course."

"I can't trust that you speak the truth," Arthur said tonelessly.

"No. And yet here I am, throwing myself at your mercy," Morgana replied sardonically. "I am powerless to escape. Do you think I would be here unnecessarily?"

"What of Sir Cadog? You could've killed him. Why should I believe you won't do the same to us all?"

Morgana's face clouded. "An unintentional accident. Your knight surprised me and I was wounded. I did not intend to harm him. His life was never in danger."

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who shared his look of deep consternation. The knights were growing restless, each of them well aware of the deadly power Morgana held, and fearing this was somehow a trap that would ensnare them all. Arthur could tell many of them were itching to do something, anything, to eliminate the threat, and were waiting with bated breath for his signal. But he found himself frozen as he tried to process what Morgana had said. Could it be true? Did he want it to be true? He had considered Morgana lost to him forever, but could not deny that some small part of him clung to the desperate hope that she might yet be returned to him as she once was.

But looking at her crouched on the ground like a wounded wild animal, he felt deep prickling unease. He knew, rationally, that he did not know this version of Morgana. She wasn't the girl to whom he would once have entrusted his life, or the girl for whose safety and happiness he would willingly have given up his throne. She was a twisted, blackened version of her, shrouded in lies and schemes. The real question was, was the true Morgana still alive in there somewhere, or was she gone for good?

All was silent in the courtyard, awaiting Arthur's command. His mouth opened and closed, and he struggled; for the first time in his reign he truly wished someone else would just take control and tell him what to do, because conflict was consuming his mind and clouding his ability to think rationally. He did not want to choose.

"I..." he finally said, wetting his dry lips. "Considering your history, you cannot expect me to have any level of trust in what you say now-" he broke off hoarsely, shaking his head. "You are an enemy of Camelot. I cannot assume you are doing anything but for your own ends now. You have proved yourself well practised in deceit and trickery for years since you left this castle. I cannot let you walk free." said Arthur, heavily, avoiding Morgana's gaze.

Yet if he had looked up at that moment, he would have seen the first glimmer of true fear in her eyes, as she realised that perhaps she had laid too much on the hope of finding Arthur's mercy. She looked round the circle at the knights who were still, wary, unsure, swords halfway sheathed, and turned tormented eyes to Arthur.

"Arthur, I-"

"What are you waiting for?" Elyan's voice suddenly boomed out alarmingly loudly, drowning out Morgana's whisper. "Take her!"

The other knights seemed to snap out of their reveries, and the sound of a dozen swords scraping out of sheaths accompanied their stirring into action. Morgana closed her eyes, the weight of her terrible mistake settling on her as she remained prone on the ground. Her magic was useless. Arthur looked about him in sudden panic as his men closed in on her, the bravest of them striding towards her with blades held aloft and grim expressions of determination fixed in place as they descended-

"No!" Arthur's sudden bark stilled the knights at once. Their eyes at once flew to their king, before they looked to one another in confusion and uncertainty, swords still held aloft. Morgana's eyes snapped open.

"But... my Lord, she is our greatest enemy, surely you would want-" began Sir Leon, hesitantly.

"I said no, Leon," Arthur interrupted, but more calmly than before. He did not take his eyes off the crouched figure of Morgana, and a charged moment passed between them as their their gazes locked. Arthur's brow knotted, unnerved. He looked away. "Take her to the dungeons. Get Gaius to see to her wounds," he ordered, and Morgana let out a tiny breath, her expression clearing. She seemed to rouse herself to bring back some of her bravado, but it did not erase the memory of her face from mere seconds ago in Arthur's mind, of her afraid and powerless, so small and threatened. He felt a disconcerting abhorrence that he had been the cause of that fearful look and took in a bolstering deep breath, looking about him as if to dare any challengers to speak up. The knights looked restless and discomforted.

"But sire, her powers... this may be our only chance. If she is able to escape from the dungeon she could wreak great damage..." reasoned Elyan, and the other knights murmured their concurrence.

"I am aware, Elyan. But if what she says is true, then she will stay in the dungeon willingly, and wait to present her case." Arthur said solidly. He turned to speak quietly to the six men most trusted to him so only they could hear. "Perhaps this has been a battle of nerve that I have just conceded, but I must know more, and I need you to trust me."

Elyan, Merlin and Leon exchanged uneasy looks, but Percival, Gwaine and Lancelot hesitated only for a moment before they sheathed their swords, their loyalty to Arthur superceding their anxiety. The others did not look happy, but finally each man assented with a dip of his head. Arthur turned back and spoke at large. "I am willing to grant the Lady Morgana a day's grace while further information is gathered. She will remain in the dungeon until then."

"And if she does not?" Elyan said, looking unhappy with Arthur's decision, his fingers still playing on the hilt of his sword.

"On my head be it," Arthur replied, and a tiny smile flickered over Morgana's features. Arthur glimpsed it, and felt wildly disconcerted, unable to tell what that little expression meant and found himself once again gripped with a fear that he had committed a grave error, and that it would quite literally be on his head, and that of every man standing there. He set his jaw, and looked each of his knights in the eye. "For Camelot. If Morgana's story is true, then it seems we may all be in danger anyway by dawn. I must know more before I act," he said, and the knights lowered their gazes in compliance to the King's wishes. Their loyalty to him was unshakeable now, but Arthur hoped desperately he was right to do this, or he knew all that could change.

"How very wise of you." Morgana's voice came as a shock, and fourteen pairs of eyes immediately darted to her. Three hands crept towards swords in belts, and Arthur held up a hand. He stood, calm as he could be, and watched her levelly, as she shifted on the ground, slowly rising to her feet. "Perhaps you've learnt to control that boneheaded recklessness after all? But that doesn't sound like you, does it?" She stood up as tall as she could manage, pride keeping her from showing the pain she was certainly in, but a grimace escaped before she could smooth her features over with cool disinterest. Arthur, ignoring her callous words, found himself battling a powerful instinct to go to her, to help her up and ease her pain.

A self-assured mask reappeared on Morgana's face as she seemed to know that her life was secure, at least for the night, and appeared unable to resist needling Arthur further. He felt wary, like he was attempting to put a partiularly vicious wild animal in a cage, and did not remark. Experience had taught him that no amount of caution was enough with this version of Morgana, robed in black, the shadows of distrust and suffering etched into her pale face, and so he turned away before his conflicted emotions could make him act foolishly.

"I will come to you in the morning, Morgana," he said stiffly.

"I'll eagerly count each passing moment until I have that pleasure, shall I?" came her light mocking reply, and Arthur sensed each of his knights bristling indignantly at the possibility of disrespect to their king. Arthur felt the strange irritation of youth that only Morgana had ever managed to wring out of him and his grip on his sword tightened, but he said nothing more, and only gestured to Percival and Leon to escort Morgana to the dungeons. She went without a fight. He wondered, briefly, if she was disappointed that he would not play her games, and tried not to watch her as she was led away.

"The rest of you get some sleep," said Arthur flatly, feeling the low thrum of a headache already blooming in his temples. ''Merlin, with me."

Arthur strode back to his chambers without speaking to Merlin, who followed after him in tactful silence. When they got in, Arthur threw a chair back from the table, flung himself into it and steepled his fingers, elbows on knees, leaning his chin on his thumbs. Merlin waited, hands behind his back, watching Arthur's troubled contemplation.

"What do you make of this, Merlin?" said Arthur at last. He looked up, then gestured for his manservant to sit, which startled him somewhat. Merlin moved cautiously and sat across from Arthur. "Was I wrong to stop my knights?"

Merlin did not answer for a moment, then spoke in a quiet voice. "Morgana would never have made herself vulnerable like that without good reason. I think she was speaking the truth."

"But even if she was... did I give up what might be our best ever chance at stopping her?" Arthur replied agitatedly, staring at his hands. "We will never have her at our mercy in that way again, Merlin. I am sure of it." They both knew it was true, and Merlin did not respond for a second.

"Why did you do it?" asked Merlin. Arthur looked up, and Merin held his gaze.

"I thought she was telling the truth."

"Is that the only reason?"

Arthur frowned, and both of them knew what the implication was, but Arthur stubbornly said "I don't know what you mean."

"Arthur, it's Morgana. She'll never be just anyone to you. It can't be easy having to decide her fate... she's... we all cared about her. You more than anyone; no one could blame you for wanting to believe-"

"No," Arthur cut him off quickly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I cannot afford to let our past cloud what I do now. I have to think about what's best for Camelot. I do not regard her differently to any other. I will judge her as if she were a stranger... and that's what she is." Arthur said firmly. "I don't recognise her as the girl I grew up with. She's not the Morgana I once knew."

"And loved." Merlin added softly. Arthur's gaze jolted to him, not angry, but strained.

"It is in the past. Whatever I felt for her then is of no importance now. I can only listen to her story and decide what will best protect Camelot, from her if not from these sorcerers she speaks of."

Merlin nodded. "I know you'll do what you think is right." he said slowly.

"But?" Arthur prompted, knowing Merlin too well to miss the preoccupation in his tone.

"I just... Morgana can't be trusted, Arthur. I worry you'll put yourself in danger because you want to help her when she might... she might be beyond any of our help," he said, eyes downcast so his long eyelashes curled against his pale skin, looking concerned that Arthur would be angered at his words. However, Arthur merely rested his arms on his chair and looked distantly at nothing in particular. He sighed heavily.

"We will see where we stand tomorrow," Arthur said at last, sounding surer than he felt. Merlin hesitated, then nodded. "Get some sleep, Merlin." Merlin dipped his head and exited the King's chambers, though Arthur would have no idea that Merlin did not plan on sleeping that night, anxious by Morgana's nearness and intent on standing guard for Arthur well into the night.

Magic like Morgana's would need magic to hold it off, after all.


	2. Chapter 2 - Lock and Key

**Sorry if updating is slow on this one; I suppose I rather underestimated how busy coming back to academia would be. Nonetheless, do stick with me, and I shall reward you in tea and biscuits. Enjoy :)**

* * *

Part III

Arthur slept fitfully. He did little more than drift in and out of a light sleep, every time he nodded off his mind raising images of his knights running a woman in black through, of Morgana's scream, of an unknown threat killing them all. At last he awoke from one such dark vision to a barely-dawn dimness, and knew there was no point in remaining in bed. He did not feel rested, and he quickly felt the knot of anxiety as he hauled clothes from various places in his room, proving for once that he did in fact know how to dress himself. There was no time to wait for Merlin.

But as if on cue, Merlin bumped through the door to Arthur's chambers carrying a tray of food. He started when he saw Arthur, and raised his eyebrows when he noticed he was fully dressed.

"...does this mean I'm out of a job?" he asked lightly. Arthur managed a vague smile, but his heart was too heavy to retort in kind. Merlin seemed to accept this and gave a smile of quiet reassurance.

"Morgana is still in her cell." he said, and Arthur's blue gaze snapped up to him instantly.

"How do you know?" he asked, surprised. Merlin looked thrown for a brief instant.

"Oh, I er, went past the dungeons on my way here."

Arthur stared at him sceptically. "You went past the dungeons... in the lowest part of the castle... to reach my chambers... All the way up here." He said, unconvinced.

"I knew you'd want to know as soon as you were up," Merlin replied quickly. Arthur shrugged.

"Oh. Well, good." He paused. "I... suppose I should go and speak with her," he said slowly. Merlin frowned.

"I'll come with you..."

"No, Merlin. I must speak with her alone." Arthur said, resolute. Merlin looked unhappy, but said nothing more as Arthur ate swift mouthfuls of his breakfast and gulped some water, sighing as he picked up his sword belt. He looked at it, deciding, then slowly placed it back down on the table. He curled and uncurled a fist, glanced at Merlin, and strode out of the room wordlessly. His feet carried him instinctively towards the dungeon and he waved off guards who offered to accompany him, only stopping to take the pertinent keys from the overseer. He marched down into the gloom and down the first long corridor of cells, determined to do this alone.

He rounded the corner.

She was sitting in the cell furthest along, head leaning back against the wall, her long, tangled hair cast impatiently over one shoulder. From a distance, Arthur just could see the white of a bandage indicating that her forearm had been treated, though he suspected she would have been none too happy to let Gaius near her. At first she seemed quite motionless, almost unnervingly so, compressed against the side of the stone cell. She was somewhat awkwardly arranged, still enough to be asleep, but the glitter of her eyes through the half-light told him otherwise. She was staring up moodily at the small slat in the wall, strong daylight casting an almost painfully bright beam through it so that her face was lit up eerily. Arthur swallowed.

He forced himself to approach the cell, and she noticed him quickly. She paused, made no move to get up, and raised her eyebrows. He frowned, remembering the last time this had happened, several years ago when she had incurred Uther's wrath. He had been her saviour. He had intervened for her, released her, would've done anything for her.

How different things were now.

Suddenly Arthur noticed that not only was there a bandage on her forearm, but also a metal shackle. He bristled. Now he realised why she had been sitting so still; she could not move. Both wrists were chained tightly to the wall, the work of some overzealous gaoler, keen to prevent his magical prisoner from escaping.

"For God's sake," Arthur muttered, and withdrew the bunch of keys he had taken from the guard without hesitation, although his heartbeat thudded a little faster in anxious anticipation as he opened the cell door, closing it behind him.

She might still try to kill him. It might have been her plan all along. He watched her, warily, and closed the door behind him. She did not move, only looked up at him with dark-rimmed eyes, heavy with tiredness, but still fierce. Moving with the careful slowness he would have used to approach a particularly volatile horse, Arthur crouched beside her and reached out to take hold of her wrist. Discomfort crossed her features at the contact, but she did not flinch. His fingers grasped her cold skin gently, and he unlocked first one shackle, then the other. She snatched her wrists away the second she was free and rubbed the marks where the metal had bitten into her flesh, springing to her feet and watching Arthur warily. He backed off, holding his hands up in peace offering.

"They didn't hurt you?" he asked quietly. She shrugged and shook her head once, sharply, and he let the subject drop.

"We must speak, Morgana," he said, wanting to get back to the business at hand.

"Yes," replied Morgana, in a voice that cracked slightly from disuse. "I suppose we must."

He swept his gaze around the cell, then over his shoulder at the guards who patrolled frequently, ostensibly just doing their job, but no doubt eager to pick up on gossip they might pass on about this most interesting prisoner.

"I have told you your word means little to me," he said flatly. "But I wish for us to speak openly, and this cell is not the place to do it. Will you swear to me on whatever honour you have left that you will come quietly to and from this cell if I bid it?"

Morgana snorted. "Come quietly? When have you ever known me to do that?"

Arthur stared at her for a moment, startled, wondering whether the double entendre was intentional. She seemed to realise what she'd said only seconds after she'd said it and she immediately glowered at him. "That is _not_ what I meant," she snapped. He found himself hiding a smirk, which unnerved him so much he sobered immediately, and only looked at her expectantly.

She paused, then finally replied. "I will." Arthur nodded once in assent and then frowned, uncomfortable.

"Then I'm afraid I will have to return you to the chains. I do not think my advisors and my knights will take kindly to the sight of you walking freely in this castle."

Morgana made a sound like a displeased cat, but pursed her lips and sardonically extended her wrists. "Fine."

Arthur found did not like to see a guard crudely replacing the irons, and he dismissed him with somewhat more sharpness than was perhaps fair. Morgana's eyes seemed to glimmer for a second, though her mouth stayed in a firm line. He stared at her briefly before he averted his gaze and summoned an armed guard to take them back through the castle, through the quietest, most private route possible. They met no one en route except a terrified-looking servant girl who scampered away as fast as she could at the sight of the King, and the stone corridor to the King's council chamber was otherwise deserted.

"You may leave us," Arthur said to the guards the moment they entered the room. The two men glanced at each other uncertainly.

"But sire-"

"Go." They bowed briefly and exited the chamber without further protest. Arthur looked straight at Morgana, who was steadily staring at some point on the far wall without a word. Her wrists were fixed before her on their short chain.

"Come here," said Arthur. She looked at him in surprise and suspicion.

"No." she replied, looking at him like he had just suggested she strip off and do a one-legged dance for his amusement. He rolled his eyes.

"Your wrists," he said by way of explanation. Her expression cleared slightly, but she stubbornly remained where she was and merely held up her hands. Arthur rolled his eyes and crossed the short distance himself, clicking the locks open quickly and tossing the cuffs onto the round table. Morgana said nothing, but her eyes were less hard than they had been. Arthur cleared his throat. He considered seating them at the great circular table which served as his meeting point so often, yet to have just the two of them at its enormous rim seemed ridiculous.

He sighed and, gambling on his own life again but deciding if she really wanted to kill him she had had enough chances thus far to do so, he motioned for her to follow. They went into a quiet, private study of his that was attached to the hall, which Arthur wasn't sure Morgana had known even existed. A glance at her surprised expression confirmed this.

"I hadn't been in her either until-" he was going to say until Uther died, but decided mentioning the old king right away was perhaps not the wisest move. "-recently." Fortunately Morgana was too distracted by the odd artefacts dotted around the room to pay him much attention.

"You know half of these are magical," she said casually. Arthur looked at her, startled.

"What?"

Morgana flashed a cat-like smile briefly, which made something nostalgic erupt in Arthur's chest. "Well, they were once. Look at this," she tossed Arthur a hand-sized weirdly-shaped metal disc that had always stood propped up against a statue of a rearing horse over the fireplace which he had never bothered to look at too closely. "Druid."

Arthur looked at the inscription uneasily for a second, and laid the trinket aside on a wooden chest. He watched Morgana watching him, and she seemed calculating, looking between him, the coin and the fireplace with some speculation. Suddenly she lifted her uninjured arm and Arthur's heart leapt in sudden panic, thinking she was about to reveal some great malevolent plan after all, but she swiftly raised her hand over the dry logs in the fireplace and her eyes flickered haltingly to gold. The logs crackled and a few sparks danced over them, but nothing more. Morgana let out a barely audible exhalation before she looked at Arthur steadily.

"There. That is the extent of my powers right now, Arthur. I am no more a threat to you in that sense than Gwen is," she said flatly. It was interesting, but somehow he did not doubt her for a second. Arthur knew, instinctively, that she was telling the truth, and though he kept reminding himself and that this display was her assurance that he had chosen correctly in saving her life. For now, anyway.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, moving a few steps closer to her. She did not shy away.

"I was in Morcar's lands over the winter. He is careless about who crosses his borders. You know he has had great trouble with rebellion these past months?" Arthur nodded, and she continued tonelessly. "It seems the Wiersa considered his land an elegant foothold into Camelot, as had I. Our paths crossed. At first I thought, as you did, that we would be on the same side," she smiled bitterly, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably at her frankness. "I explored the possibility of an alliance, and they initially seemed willing. But before long it became apparent we were not one and the same at all. They are blood purists, and dislike anyone from outside their clan-base. Plus, they are not accustomed to valuing a woman's counsel." She wrinkled her nose in obvious dislike. "They are not like the Druids, or indeed any other magical beings I've met. They use their magic crudely and aggressively, without any care,- she caught sight of Arthur's pensive expression. "Like a man who swings his mace blindly in contrast to the finesse of a swordsman," she said, her voice tinged with a faintly ironic, condescending tone. Arthur nearly smiled, but contented himself with nodding.

"We came to hostility quickly. But I was within their camp, and it grew dangerous. The men decided they wanted me captive. I was surrounded. When I fought back they sought to kill me," she spoke flatly and almost boredly, but the haunting touch of fresh trauma was unmistakeable in her eyes. "I escaped with my life, but I exhausted my magic doing it. I think it is recovering, but not... quickly." She said, lowering her eyes as if admitting something shameful. Arthur, not for the first occasion since last night, felt true stabs of pity for her, and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

When did she become so broken?

How had he allowed it?

He closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry."

A flicker of emotion crossed Morgana's face. She watched Arthur intently for his reaction, and something strange registered in her expression. "Are you? You don't prefer me powerless and non-magical?"

"I prefer you happy," he replied honestly.

She looked thrown, as if she did not know what to do with that, so carried on as if he had not spoken. "No longer flinching at the mere mention of magic, then?" She asked flippantly. Arthur looked at her plainly.

"Perhaps my eyes have been opened, even as yours were closed," he replied pointedly, ignoring her scowl of indignation. "Morgana, I am not my father. I do not share his views on all things, and nor have I done as he did. You know that." She looked frozen for the moment before her tongue came unstuck.

"You still persecute my kind. You haven't made magic legal; you still call it a crime, even though it's not something you _do_, Arthur, it's something you _are_. Something you have to be, and something you always will be, no matter what you wish or choose." The bitterness in her voice was plain enough.

"I _know_." The admission made them both fall silent. "It's not that I... I do not hate sorcery for itself, Morgana. I hate the loss of control it brings. It is dangerous, unpredictable... and in the wrong hands, deadly. I cannot loose it on my kingdom. I don't know how to reconcile it with everything I have ever known. I don't know where its place is in this world." He spoke quietly, avoiding her gaze, a vulnerability about him which she had not seen since they were children. She stared, temporarily at a loss for words, unnerved by the raw honesty seeping from him, far more used to rage and mockery than candour. She cast him a sidelong glance through her long eyelashes.

"You have thought about it," she said, a statement more than a question.

"Lifting the ban? Yes. You were there when we were young and my father ruled. When did I ever take pleasure in watching sorcerers die? Ones who were clearly innocent of any malice, and who didn't deserve to die? You know I defended each and every one I knew had done no wrong. My father was a strong king, but he was ruthless and it made him a great many enemies. I know that. I want to do better than he did. There are times when I think it could work, that we could start anew in a world where magic has a place, but then every time something happens which makes me realise how out of my control it would be, and how much danger there would be with sorcerers freely practising at every turn." He paused for a moment. "Surely it doesn't surprise you. You are why I cannot give magic a chance. You and all those who use magic to harm-"

"Oh, let's not have this argument again," Morgana snapped suddenly, jerking her chin upwards defiantly. "I am not here to discuss my actions. I do as I think is right, the same as you. The same as I have always done." She dared Arthur to deny it with the stubborn lifting of her chin and the fierce expression in her eyes. Arthur merely looked at her, a half-weary, half-affectionate expression in his eyes.

"I don't doubt it. I just wish I could make you see that I'm not your enemy. That I want to help you and your kind, as I do for all people of Camelot." He spread his arms, palms outwards, as if offering something, though he did not know exactly what. Morgana looked back at him for a long moment, irresolute, and then her mouth tightened.

"It is not so simple. Not any more. Decades of magical death complicate everything about you, Arthur. For all the good intentions you have now, how can I know you won't be shaken one day by a bad experience and start a Great Purge just as Uther did? I cannot see a Camelot which embraces magic while a non-magical king and son of a tyrant remains on the throne."

"So it is hopeless for me, then," retorted Arthur, flatly. "No matter what I do, no matter how I try to prove myself as a king who rules with fairness and mercy, you will never believe it. You will always live to suspect the worst in me." He met her level gaze with blue eyes ablaze with passionate demand.

"I will always live to suspect you are more Uther's son than you realise now." Morgana replied heavily. Arthur made a sound of frustration, and turned away, leaning on the dining table with hunched shoulders. Morgana took one step towards him and fought the deep sense of unease at how intimate and candid this exchange had become. She closed her eyes and pressed pale fingers to her forehead, wishing the complication in their relationship would just fade away.

"I am not saying you are to blame. You cannot help that you were born his son just as I cannot help that I was born with magic. He raised you to hate what you can't control or understand-"

"I do not hate magic, Morgana, how many times must I say it!" Arthur cut in, exasperated, wheeling around to face her.

"Nevertheless, you have Uther's voice whispering to you every time you think about relaxing the law." She replied softly, her eyes speculative. Arthur dropped his gaze. "There. I am right," she said, taking two steps forward so she was almost within touching distance of him. "It doesn't make you a lesser man. But it means Uther's word still lives on." Her voice, unexpectedly, was almost kind, understanding, but Arthur gritted his teeth. He knew she was right, and was angry that she had seen straight away the turmoil he kept deeply buried inside: the fear of insulting his father's memory, and not being the son he had wanted, that no one else knew about. Yet he forced himself to reply calmly.

"Doesn't it live in you too? In your paranoia that I'll become something you used to know I'd never be? That's what he did. That's what did all this damage."

The comparison hit home. Morgana's cheeks flushed with anger, and a shutter fell across her face. "This conversation resolves nothing," she said coolly. "I did not come here to discuss the merits and faults of your kingship. I am here because we share a common enemy, and for no other reason. Let us not dig up the past now."

"Fine." Arthur replied curtly and dragged his usual chair at the end of the table out, dropping into it and gesturing vaguely for Morgana to join him. She did so after a belligerent pause and sat to his left, the corner of the table between them. An angry silence elapsed, with both looking hot-temperedly in opposite directions.

"You arrived here vulnerable and at my mercy. Why did you come to me when you realised these sorcerers were a threat? Why not just run and keep yourself safe?" Arthur finally broke the silence, giving up the time-wasting game, and drew Morgana's gaze back to him.

"Because I know they could destroy you." Morgana said bluntly, and Arthur felt a chill run down his back.

"I thought you wanted that."

Morgana avoided his gaze.

"It wouldn't help me to have a Wiersa king in Camelot. They would kill me or you without distinction."

"So you came here to be protected," said Arthur slowly.

"To be protected. And to protect," Morgana said reluctantly. "Your chances, I imagine, would be greatly improved if I were to help you at full strength," she said with a sardonic roll of her eyes. Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"A rather high opinion of yourself, my lady," he snorted, before he could check himself. The term had slipped out before he could remember that she wasn't 'my lady' any longer. It did not go unnoticed by Morgana, who smiled bitterly, or even, he fancied, regretfully.

"Whatever happens, I cannot win against the Wiersa without a king's power. But you can't win this fight either without magic on your side, Arthur. And that raises a dilemma for you."

Arthur looked at her for a few long moments in dawning realisation. "You want Camelot to fight with magic? What, an army of sorcerers?"

She sighed. "You needn't put it like that, Arthur. It would be no different to your soldiers. They would fight with them. Aid them. Empower them. Because that's what magic can do, Arthur," she said softly, her tone warmer than he had heard it for a long time. He swallowed, hard, and pressed his fingers to his temples in a habit he had had since youth.

"And if we did it. If I allowed this. What's to stop you turning on Camelot once your powers return? How can I trust you?"

Morgana shrugged. "It would do me no good to injure you while the Wiersa still live. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, after all."

Arthur gave a short laugh. "You offer friendship, then. After all these years of hatred? Of fighting me?"

She looked weary, suddenly, and her voice was ragged. "What I hated was never you, Arthur. Even if I tried I couldn't forget who you were as a boy. If we had lived another life and were raised in simple fields instead of royal courts, I don't doubt I would have always stayed by your side." As soon as she said it she looked surprised at herself, and then frowned hard, as if chiding herself for the slip up. But the words were out there, and Arthur was thrown.

Taken aback, he said nothing. But his gut told him, then, that a fragile trust was climbing from his heart, whatever warnings there were against it. He wasn't sure if he liked the feeling.

Puffing out his breath, Arthur steepled his hands and leaned on the table, thinking hard.

"I will have to take you back to your cell," he said, a faint note of apology in his voice. "Until I have greater knowledge of our situation."

Morgana rolled her eyes. "Of course." she said mildly. "Will you be wanting me chained to a wall again too?"

Arthur coughed. "I am sorry about that," he said. "I will speak with my knights as soon as possible. You have my word."

She shrugged and rose to her feet. Wordlessly they walked back to the council chamber and Morgana picked up the shackles Arthur had discarded earlier, dangling them idly in front of him. To her surprise, he took them but merely held them loosely at his side, making no move to use them.

"What?" he said defensively, seeing her looking. "You are, after all, just a powerless and meek woman now, aren't you?" he asked, mock-serious. She glared at him in response, and only smiled reluctantly when she thought he wasn't looking.

He walked her back down through the castle with the hapless guard trotting after them purposelessly. It was almost as if it were five years ago and he was walking her to her bedroom after a feast, but the gloom of the lower part of the castle quickly reminded them that it was very different. Arthur felt deeply awkward accompanying Morgana to watch her be put behind iron bars, and he frowned as the guard locked the door behind her. She stood facing out unashamedly and forced him to catch her eye, and the fierce look of defiance he saw there somehow made him feel better.

Part of him felt dangerously like it was getting the old Morgana back. But the rational part reminded him not to lose his sense to wild, desperate hope, and take this side of her with a pinch of salt. He knew that this was a fragile, temporary truce which Morgana might break at any moment.

Arthur inclined his head once, and took his leave.

He called a council that afternoon.


End file.
